


i have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine

by StrangeHormones



Category: Re-Animator (Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Breeding, Cock Warming, F/M, Overstimulation, Pregnancy Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:55:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24820441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeHormones/pseuds/StrangeHormones
Summary: herbert west x fem!reader| when love is not madness, it is not love.
Relationships: Herbert West/Reader
Kudos: 43





	i have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine

You don’t even know if Herbert had even known that particular part of himself existed, you certainly hadn’t. You couldn’t help admitting there was something insanely arousing about it. Herbert in and of himself was generally arousing. In a variety of ways, for a variety of different reasons. It was that admiration that helped your relationship function. Just as his intense focus when it was time for you and not his work did the same. But there were still so many parts of this you were figuring out. It was obvious your relationship would never be conventional. You’d come to terms with stolen moments against the stairway banister or how sometimes it ended up being more profitable to just start yourself off on one of the stools and let him ride out the finish line. But this had not been anything you could expect. It seemed neither had he, at least not consciously.

You hadn’t been downstairs all day, which was suspicious itself, but Daniel had passingly mentioned that every chance available to mention you hadn’t seemed to moved. As much as Herbert did not want to be pulled away from his work, he was aware certain requirements were to be fulfilled if their relationship were to continue. Not to mention it was new behavior, something he hoped would be a one-off that he would never have to worry again. Those were his favorite problems, so many of them seem to be that way. Once Daniel had left, and he had found himself in a good stopping place he had come upstairs to find you sitting at the table, the same spot he had seen you in when he’d come up for the food that morning. You couldn’t hide it from him, it’s not like he didn’t know something was wrong. Whether he realized it himself or Dan had mentioned it, he was here now. And he was waiting. How could you tell him though? It wasn’t a thing that had ever crossed your mind, let alone been discussed and now it was suddenly slapping you in the face. He waits out your silence patiently as you have so often waited for him. It’s his own form of kindness and you just have to trust that he’ll respond in his own odd, but endearing manner to the news and what it could mean.

“I’m late,” you sighed, turning in the chair to face him fully, “Two weeks late.”

Of all the reactions you thought you’d get from your partner, it wasn’t this. He surged forward, locking his lips tightly against yours as he pulled you to your feet. It was a level of greediness you’d never experienced from him before. His hand spread wide as half of it dipped beneath your jeans and panties, right above your womb. As if he could feel life beneath his hand without any proof besides your anxiety, not exactly scientifically sound. Another thing about you to defy Herbert’s inherent need for facts and evidence. He devours you, as if to become a part of you and make the experience his as well. You don’t want to pull away, you want to fall into it all but simply falling before his whim was far more trouble than it’s worth more often than not. You jam yourself into the corner where the table meets the wall, holding his cheeks as his lips tried to follow yours.

“ _Herbert_ …” your voice a low warning that has been practiced and well-honed, it holds a particular power over the man suddenly so desperate for you, “What is this?”

He’s got that look in his eyes, the one you knew far too well, that had drug you and Daniel into his always chaotic and incredibly manic science, “Come with me,” he’s got a tight grip on your wrist and is dragging you to the only place his show and tells ever take place; the basement.

You’re loath to think what he could have down there that even comes close to whatever may be growing inside you. This is another point he seems to have forgotten, there were more reasons for being late than just pregnancy but after two weeks it had to be considered. Stress would be a far more likely reason. Who wouldn’t be stressed in the unusual environment you all had somehow created for yourself? If he had been any other man you’re sure you’d both still be sitting out that table as you listed other things it might be to comfort him. Instead, Herbert’s mind flew to the creation of life very quickly and happily. It was a strange reaction and you’re sure his explanation will come with some dark twisted edge. They tend too. But you follow all the same because that’s what you do when you tell the love of your life- through no choice of your own, to be clear- you might be pregnant and they begun to drag you to their secret lab. 

It feels very much like the first time you had been drug down there. Having heard the rumors you’d knocked on that door, hearing how it echoed through the house that must’ve housed far more dead things before either of the men had ever arrived. You knocked again. And again. Watching the curtains shuffle in ways that might’ve been a draft if there weren’t shadows just beyond. Until the door finally opened. You might’ve swooned for Daniel, you should have swooned for him. It was clearly what everyone had expected but you hadn’t listened so intently to rumors about him. You weren’t here to pick his brain and hope he didn’t do so, quite literally, to yours. 

“Dr. West?” looking past the conventionally attractive man to the other tucked not far off, just out of sight, “I wrote you a letter, recently,” as if that somehow explained your appearance.

It didn’t but his eyes seemed oddly bright, dragging over you in a way that cut through you far too scientifically for your liking, “You are not what I expected.”

The other man, at this point you still don’t know the name of one of your most important friends, looks between the two of you quizzically. He tells you this later because in the moment you’re falling into those deep greens and you are completely lost. It’s dangerous because he is too, you know that.

“May I come in?” but you’re stepping past the threshold as you ask.

You’d never gone home after. 

When Herbert welcomed someone into his web, they never left. Not if he could help it. He’d walked you down those steps, grip on your wrist bruisingly tight, into the basement where the rules of life and death no longer applied. He proved every rumor right. You’ve truly known him less than 10 minutes and already he’s making your panties damp. He must know, even if he doesn’t realize it, later he’ll admit to you that he had. The excitement on his face then is exactly the same as now for entirely different reasons. Even if you didn’t quite understand now’s. Then had been so simple, it amazed you it had taken so long to realize it.

A girl Herbert thought was pretty was interested in his experiments. Even he had balked when telling you, calling it simple. You had reminded him that was probably why he hadn’t thought of it. Being a genius didn’t mean he was smart. He hated when you said that but he’s sure he’d miss it if you stopped. The part of you that would always be far more advanced; you don’t have to analyze. 

Except, for now, you’re begging for it. For the first time, he holds the reins of the relationship because you can’t risk being emotional. He has already passed that threshold, just not in the ways either of you had expected. All he wants is to devour you, throw you against the table-

“Look at her,” pointing to the woman on the slab, the one you had become party to building for Dan’s happiness, his other arm wraps tightly around your waist, pulling your back against his chest, “I can give her life. Bring her back. But at the end of the day, they’re just parts. Grown from something I can’t replicate, can’t create,” his palm over your womb once more, squeezing ever so slightly, “I can only improve upon what already exists. But you,” dip farther beneath the fabric till he could cup your now throbbing sex in his hand, “Two parts collide and you _create_ life. The very reason we want to deny death,” his breath along the shell of your ear sends shivers down your spine, “Is there really anything more arousing to think about?”

In just a few sentences you’ve learned so much about your love that you can’t take in when his middle finger parts your lips. This is how he loves you. Lost in his touch, desperate for every pleasurable sensation he would shower upon you, fully a part of that animal emotion of yours he was still trying to comprehend. His hand retreats and you whimper.

“I have work to do,” he says it in that tone, the one that reminds you he seems capable of splitting his brain in two when you barely managed to clear the fog sometimes, “Would you like to keep me company?” it seems different now.

It’s mischievous, you question the true intentions of his hand but it doesn’t make it through. So you nod, with a smile and heavy breath. He spins you, that pleased smile comes into sight, you groan at the lack of contact. His fingers nimbly snap open your trouser’s button and the zipper, it isn’t difficult to deduce what he wants next. You push the fabric down, along with your panties or they might be lost, still unsure of what was happening. Perhaps you were taking in information in the wrong order, he had to work but why would he…

“I realize that being focused on my work should not lead to your neglect,” he’s genuine, taking your hand gently as he stepped towards his chair where all of his assorted papers and journals lay, “After all you do write much quicker and far more legible than I do,” sitting slowly at the desk he rearranged everything.

For what purpose you were still unsure. Only that it leaves you time to remember how similar this moment was to another. You can’t remember how you’d gotten there, the reasoning had long been lost to the most important parts of the memory. 

When he’d suddenly been kissing you, pressing you back against the desk you dare not touch. You had doubts that even passion would be an excuse for messing up his notes. Which had been far too true when you had been forced to part and gather the items. Every moment torture until…there’d been no foreplay, just heavy kisses and the full feeling of him inside you. The memory makes you ache and even more wetness explodes between the now exposed apex of your thighs. 

He’s smiling up at you, it’s almost soft, grasping your hand and lacing your fingers, “Sit, with your help I just might be done a little bit faster.”

He’s counting on your inability to rise beyond your wants and needs, no matter how predictable it is, he’s always surprised by its effect on him. The purr that rolls from your throat as you realize he’s adjusted more than just papers, the tip of his hard member pressing achingly against you. For a moment you believe he’s teasing you, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten you worked up and sent you off to your own devices, lost to anything but that information in front of him. You tense, waiting. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you down till he was completely sheathed inside you.

“And if there really is a child inside you, we’ll have to learn to take our moments when we can,” the thought suddenly makes your stomach warm and fuzzy rather than drop with worry, or maybe that’s him inside you, “You alright, my love?”

You nod, swallowing hard, “Yes,” you manage to stutter out as you’ve begun to realize what’s happening here, “Um…where’s the..uh..” the pencil appears in your hand but it takes far to long to grip it tightly.

He begins to drone on, rattling off numbers and words you don’t understand. Your handwriting is sloppy, you’re sure half the words don’t make it. Your body is desperately clenching around him, needing any kind of friction and receiving none. You breathe deeply, hoping it will ground you, but all it does is tighten you. The pencil drops from your hand and he stops. He takes it, pressing it into your hand again, and watching you struggle for a grip before continuing on as if nothing had happened. You can’t tell if his eyes are on you or not, you’re trying to focus on each letter but it’s getting harder and harder to even pretend you can write. There are tears behind your eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. You’ve never needed anything more than you need him to move. The feeling of him sparking every nerve ending. The thought alone causes the tears to fall, heavy drops that track down your cheek but do little else to mar your features. The wood snaps in your grasp and you drop the splintered pieces, wishing the sharpness had been enough to drag you from the depths.

“You are for more patient than I give you credit for,” he sounds amused but you’re more focused on his lips ghosting across your neck, “Remind me of this if I try to say otherwise.”

You nod, words have been lost on you for quite some time now, you’re nothing but exposed nerve endings and need. Even now, when you had moved onto the next step, he still didn’t move. Tasting your skin, hands traveling your body, you can’t stop the tears. Panting, needy. You want to tell him you’ll do anything but all that comes out is a series of moans that seem to be only vowels. Your hands clamber for him, one reaching behind you and arching your back just enough for there to be the briefest moment of friction. You cry out, a mangled sound that hardly sounds human to your ears.

“It had to be you,” his hips roll against yours, more of that delicious sensation and this time you’re sure you must scream, “So beautiful, intelligent in all the ways I could never be,” it takes absolutely nothing to send you over the edge, a few words punctuated by perfectly timed roll of his hips, “You’ll be a wonderful mother.”

You cry out, falling forward as an orgasm that came from a place you’d never known existed wracked your body. You never reach the table, his arms around you as his movements became short, hard thrusts upwards. Brushing against every part deep inside of you. All you can do is cry out, lost in the sensation and eager to feel it’s peak once again. There is no fall, every time you begin to he only takes you higher. His fingers circle your clit, slow, even movements that dare to drive your crazy until he presses it hard with the pad of his thumb and the world spins out of control.

“Is that why you waited so long to tell me?” he gasps, lips always pressed against the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder, “Is that what you want, my love?”

In a perfect world, “Yes,” you gasp and you mean it, “Your’s entirely.”

The last words you can manage are the two that send him over the edge. His cock twitches inside of you, each spurt of his cum pressed tight against your cervix. He doesn’t move, his intent clear, it sends you tumbling. The world goes black at the edges. It’s overwhelming; the love and need. The desperation. You feel yourself come undone one final time before the world truly does go black.

-_-_-_-_-_-

You come too much later than you expected. He’s tucked you into the cot that you had gotten when you realized that sleeping with your partner may not mean that both of you were. But he’s not working, he’s kneeling next to you. One hand rubs your forehead comfortingly, the other rests atop your crossed hands. He smiles, you’re thankful he’s decided the time for words are over. Instead, he helps you to wobbling legs, then up the stairs, never even a sigh of discontent at the time it takes you to manage such a simple task. He seems more proud that he’s broken your brain for the moment. It’s never occurred to you that you might be the first woman he’s held any sort of sexual power over. You don’t expect a pulse from your soaked and over-sensitized core, but Herbert always has had a way of making your body thrum. He steers you towards your room, knowing the starched sheets and clinical walls of his own would do nothing pleasant to your senses. 

“You must’ve quite been worried,” both of you looking at the disheveled state of your bed rather than the tucked corners you were both used to, “You should’ve just told me as soon as you thought you might be pregnant.”

You smiled, if a bit sarcastically, with a laugh as he lowered you onto the bed, “Do you think that’s something men tend to respond well to? Not to mention our lifestyle…” already the real world is leaking in at the edges, your agreement in the heat of the moment starting to feel like a lie.

“I’ll do better,” it’s the closest to desperate you’ve ever heard, “More controlled. We’ll get locks and cages,” he climbs into bed beside you, slacks and all, “Don’t give yourself the chance to feel regret.”

“You really want this,” you finally say after a long beat of silence, taking his face in one hand, “Don’t you?”

He nodded, “I never thought I would but the thought of it,” his head ducks, lowering till his ear pressed against you where a child would grow if there truly was one inside you, “You and I, together, creating a life. It’s a very powerful feeling. And it comes with such vivid imagery.”

“Imagery?” you ask, glad for the way his words distract you.

Running your fingers through his hair lulls you into a sense of comfort as always, “How beautiful you would look swollen with our creation,” his fingers begin to stray, over the soft curve of your thigh, “All the miraculous changes your body will go through to welcome new life into the world,” he sighs, fingers parting your lips gently and you hiss at the sudden but not entirely unwelcome pressure, “I had always thought making life the old fashion would be incomprehensibly dull. I just hadn’t discovered all the variables.”

It isn’t difficult to figure out what he means, you don’t insult him be asking. Instead, you hum, feeling how his fingers move delicately over your slicked core. You’re sore and every touch manages to feel amazing even in its pain. He moves gently, all too aware of your heightened state, it was more than likely the driving force behind doing it. 

“It does mean I’ll have to take a break from my work. I’m sure you’ll be quite needy,” the tip of his middle finger teases your hole, in and out ever so lightly in a way that stops your breathing, “I should rephrase. You’ll be quite _uncontrollably_ needy,” the idea of a world with Herbert at the beck and call of your carnal desires jump-starts your airways with a broken gasp, “And the stress wouldn’t be good for you. I know it’s not already but it’d be especially unhealthy. You’d need me ready for anything,” there’s a reason he doesn’t mention Daniel and how he knows the thought of why crosses your mind so it banishes it by dipping his finger entirely inside you. Even the single ditch feels as if it fills you entirely, “Would you ask me to make that sacrifice?”

It’s a loaded question, there’s a reason he asks in this moment, brushing his finger against that special place inside you that makes you cry out, “No,” you gasp, he slips a second finger into you, “I don’t want anything you’re not willing to give,” his attempt at punishment becomes an attempt at pleasure.

Some twisted apology for darkening the moment as only he can, “Of course not,” there’s no stroke of his fingers in and out, just pressure as your walls tighten around him, “You never do,” it isn’t the three words you want to hear but the tenderness with which he says them is more than enough, “If anyone here is selfish…” he shakes his head, finally lifting himself to look in your eyes, “Just once more. For me,” you believe him, you mean too much to him and this is the next step of that.

This is what it had all been leading up to. Your own creation, your own experiment. There’s only so long he’ll be able to tuck the Reagent away. A finite amount of years before chaos is welcomed back into your life. There’s only hope that you’ll have the time to prepare. You want this, with him, all of this. Whatever it is. The strange muddled waters that described whatever your relationship was had suddenly cleared with this accident. This worry. _This fear_. When there should have been none. The coil inside you snaps.

He draws something ragged from you, the last part of yourself he has yet to see, and he swallows it down. His lips hard against yours, his body close, he doesn’t need anything more from you. Just your teeth tugging at him and your nails digging into his scalp. Your body uses what little strength is left to arch your back, the tension of all your muscles allowing you to chase the last tendrils of your shattered orgasm. You fall, into the bed, into Herbert. Surround by a feeling of comfort and safety you had never known. One that only he could manage. Pulling from you to kneel between your legs and work his fingers delicately into the slightly spasming muscles of your legs.

“I want that with you,” your voice soft once you’d finally caught your breath, “Just a few years. I’ve always known I can only distract you for so long.”

A cheeky smirk carves his face, it sends butterflies through your guts the same as it always had, “Just until their old enough…”

“Wouldn’t that be a lovely show and tell project?” you balked, humming as his fingers climbed higher to your screaming thighs, “We’d have to move every year.”

“If you haven’t noticed, we already do…”

It’s the closest to normal you’ve experienced together, which is odd considering the subject matter. The discussion about what to do when the inevitable chaos began to crack the surface and pull everything apart. He’s honest in a lot of ways he never has been before and answers questions you’d never thought to ask. Halfway through his massage across your body, you’re sure his hands must ache. Before you can voice anything about it being alright to stop he dashes it from your mind and asks you to finish your story of how you’d come to learn of him and his experiments. You tell him things you never had before, things you had believed he’d find trivial. Like the moment you’d know you were smitten. Surprised to find he had found himself in the position before you even if he hadn’t admitted it till long after. 

It’s an odd love you share, one where the word has never passed between you two in the tone of either of your voices but is somehow always in the air. He can’t promise you anything, chaos is his nature and there is another unspoken agreement between you to never make promises you can’t keep. But he promises to try. Quietly and softly, when he’s rolled you onto your stomach, moving along the curve of your back. It’s the last thing you hear before you fall asleep, holding it close for when you wake up lonely the next morning.

Except you don’t. Though Herbert seems as if he hasn’t slept at all, he’s still there. He’s begun to work on his promise. Proving to you now when it was easy, so you trusted him inherently when it was hard. You want to say the words but you can’t.

“Sleep, my love,” dragging him beneath covers with you, kissing each of his eyelids as they fluttered closed, “Just a few moments. For me.”

You sleep in each other’s arms for the first time. You know he’ll trip up often in the beginning, maybe even after. At least he’s trying, always trying. Because he loves you.

In his own odd way, it seems even stronger than your own. 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments always appreciated
> 
> youtastelikesugar.tumblr.com


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